Nothing in the World is Single
by StarSpray
Summary: (Better to Have Loved) Befriending Elwing is not an easy task. Neither is trying to kiss her.
1. Chapter 1

_And the sunlight clasps the earth,  
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—  
What is all this sweet work worth  
If thou kiss not me?  
_- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Love's Philosophy"

.

It was a beautiful sunset. Ribbons of cloud glimmered gold against a swiftly-deepening blue sky. Toward the darker east, the stars had begun to wink into view. On the western horizon, the waves shimmered pink and gold, and the westernmost sky still defied the coming night, awash in fire as Anor sank into the sea.

Eärendil stood on the shore watching it, unmoving, except for his hair that lifted on the breeze. Salt and sand crusted his legs up to his knees, and seawater stained his clothes. It was not often that he managed to come to the beach alone, and when he did he made sure it was at sunset.

He wasn't sure why, only that he did not like moments such as this one to be broken by the presence of another.

At last, the last flames of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and twilight set in, the stars coming out in force now, flickering white and cold in the purpling sky, and Eärendil turned toward home. He picked his way up the hill with ease, familiar with every step of the path, every stray rock or clump of coarse grass that might threaten to trip him up, and came at last to the courtyard that stood between two houses – the one in which Eärendil lived with his parents, and the one belonging to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.

And Elwing. Eärendil stopped at the water pump to wash the sand from his legs, and caught a glimpse of her through her bedroom window, peering out of it, watching him. When she caught him looking back, she yanked the curtains closed.

It was five years, almost, since the Gondolindrim had come to Sirion. In that time, Eärendil had come to realize several things about Elwing daughter of Dior.

Firstly: she was _very_ pretty, with eyes the color of the sky just before it snowed, and hair so fine it fell around her face and shoulders like feathery shadows that refused to adhere to any attempt at taming them with braids or ribbons, and features so delicate they reminded him of the crystal roses an artisan in Gondolin had crafted, that sparkled in the sunlight and cast dappled rainbows onto the wall.

Second: she never smiled. He thought she must have a lovely smile, because the rest of her was so pretty, but nothing seemed able to coax it out of her. She never wept, either – at least, not that Eärendil could tell. He never saw the sticky remnants of tears on her cheeks or the telltale red puffiness around her eyes or nose. She _did_ have a temper, that made her body go rigid, and her eyes flash with sudden fire so she looked almost fearsome (and _would_ look fearsome, when she was bigger), but this was a rare occurrence, and one that made Lord Celeborn sigh and mutter something about Thingol, to which Galadriel would murmur in reply something about Melian, or Lúthien.

And thirdly – and perhaps most importantly: Elwing, like him, was Halfelven. Not truly _half_, he had learned, when he had questioned his mother a few months after his initial encounter with Elwing – but close enough. Even in Gondolin they had heard the rumors of Lúthien, the most beautiful princess of Elu Thingol and Queen Melian, and Beren, the mortal Man of the House of Bëor, who had braved the depths of Angband and the presence of Morgoth himself to steal a Silmaril, which Thingol had demanded before he would allow his daughter to marry a Man. Lúthien and Beren, Idril told Eärendil, were Elwing's grandparents, through her father Dior, who had married Nimloth, the niece of Lord Celeborn.

Tuor had shaken his head after she was done, and said, "It was lucky for me that Turgon did not demand such a high bride price."

Idril had laughed (though not as brightly as she once had, Eärendil noticed; she never did anymore, especially when her father was mentioned). "You were Ulmo's messenger, after all," she said. "And it would have been rather absurd for him to send you on such a quest when no one was permitted to leave Gondolin."

"Yes, well, he could have had me do something else nigh impossible," Tuor replied, grinning. "Carving your likeness from marble, for example, when all I'm capable of is grinding it into marble dust…"

Their banter continued, but Eärendil stopped listening after that. What really mattered – to him, anyway – was that he and Elwing were the only two children in Beleriand, as far as anyone knew, with the blood of both Men and Elves running through their veins.

He'd hoped that they would become friends – and he had tried everything he could think of to draw a smile out of her, but nothing seemed to work. Oh, lately she was coming out of her room and smiling and talking with visitors – but the smiles weren't _real_; they never reached her eyes, even after five years in Sirion.

"Eärendil, there you are," Tuor said as Eärendil entered the kitchen. His father was busy preparing dinner along with Voronwë, who dwelled with them. "Set the table, will you? Annael is dining with us tonight."

"Yes, Adar." Eärendil grabbed a handful of plates and trotted into the dining room, where his mother sat going over some papers.

"You'd best wash up before supper, Eärendil," she said, glancing up briefly, just enough to take in his damp, salty appearance. "Where have you been all day?"

"At the harbor." He had befriended Aerandir, a young elf not much older – in maturity, anyway – than Eärendil, and they were building a skiff together, to sail around the bay. "And then I stopped to watch the sunset."

"I saw it from the window," Idril said, smiling as she gathered up her papers as he set the dishes down. "It was lovely."

But her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Maybe she thought Eärendil couldn't tell – but he always could. He remembered when her smile _always_ reached her eyes, in Gondolin before that fateful midsummer celebration.

(The Gondolindrim did not celebrate Midsummer anymore. The Sindar did, but kept their bonfires and wild dances away from where the Noldor lived, respecting the pain of those memories.)

Dinner that evening was a merry affair – it always was, when Tuor's foster-father visited. Eärendil listened to and laughed at stories of his father's childhood in Mithrim, because Annael delighted in telling them, and listened more quietly to news of Annael's daughter Caleniel, who dwelt on Balar and had given birth to a baby girl a few years before.

After supper, Eärendil retreated to his room, which overlooked the sea, and he sat at his window, staring at the stars, and out over the horizon. On a moonless night, like this one, it was impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began.

He fell asleep at the window, and woke with a stiff neck when his father knocked on his door to call him to breakfast. It would be a quick affair, eaten hurriedly in the kitchen – at least by the adults. Today was the day the council met to discuss the affairs of the Havens. Eärendil had attended one or two of these meetings, and they were deathly boring, except when tempers flared – usually around issues connected to the tension still lingering between the Iathrim and Gondolindrim.

It was through these councils that Eärendil had learned _why_ that tension even existed. Before that his parents had tried to keep from him the kinslayings, and the Sons of Fëanor and their terrible Oath. And because they were Noldor, there were some refugees from Doriath who distrusted those from Gondolin, though they had nothing to do with the kinslaying.

So Eärendil had the day to himself again. No lessons or chores, while the adults were busy.

He decided to pay Elwing a visit. She was the only child in Sirion close to his age – and the only one he was unlikely to outgrow in just a few years. But she wasn't at home, and her nurse, Luinnel, had not seen her. "I think she might be in the garden, Eärendil," she said, "but I do not think she is in the mood for company today."

When was she _ever_ in the mood for company? Eärendil went to the garden anyway. The roses were in full bloom, and the whole garden was filled with their heady perfume. He caught a glimpse of dark hair, and headed toward it – only to find it vanishing behind a clump of honeysuckle bushes, long past their flowering and now sporting bright red berries. He'd once eaten those berries, from bushes that grew in someone's garden in Gondolin (he forgot whose, now), and had made himself sick. His mother had been concerned, but his father had just shaken his head and called it a lesson learned, and that they were only mildly poisonous – nothing to worry about.

Turgon had been there, and that had sparked a debate about varieties of honeysuckle in Middle-earth and in Valinor, where apparently there was a bush with berries that _could_ be eaten. Eärendil had lost interest quickly; he'd been no more than five at the time, and had no interest at all in the flora of the distant West.

Now he was wondering what lay behind the honey suckle bushes, besides the garden wall, that would draw Elwing to them. He trotted over and crouched down to peer through the leaves, but did not see Elwing at all. "Elwing?" He pushed his way through, and found just the garden wall.

With a hole in it, carefully enlarged from what he supposed had been a small weakness when it had first been built. He shook his head. "So that's where you disappear to all the time…" He poked his head through the hole and saw her vanishing into the wheat fields that lay between the Havens and the forests of Nimbrethil.

Without thinking, he followed, running into the wheat and just managing to keep her in view. She was so fast! Eärendil had thought she spent all of her time inside, locked away in her room or with her nurse, but apparently she slipped away like this often. She easily dodged those working the fields, and Eärendil followed her lead.

They were heading for the forest. Eärendil slowed down as she disappeared without hesitation into its eaves. The birch trees towered over him, waving and rustling in the breeze, their trunks like tarnished silver in the shade. Eärendil stared at them, spotting the occasional beech or maple tree, and remembered the last great forest he had set foot in.

Neldoreth had been vast, and filled with twisting shadows and thick underbrush. The shadows, it was said, were the remnant of Melian's enchanted Girdle that had guarded the kingdom for so long. But she was gone, and there was nothing, magical or not, to stop them from passing through, except for the prickling feeling that they were not alone. There were ghosts in Doriath, people whispered, including Tuor.

And Eärendil could not argue. He'd been plagued with strange dreams all the time they were in Doriath, of music and of a woman's faint laughter or singing, her hair like shadows as she spun, flowers blooming under her feet.

He was sure that it was Lúthien he'd dreamed of. Elwing's grandmother. Neldoreth had been her forest, and it remembered her still. Nimbrethil, it seemed, was Elwing's.

In the end, he followed her in in spite of his misgivings and thoughts of ghosts. There was nothing else for him to do, and he told himself he was being silly, worrying about ghosts. There were no ghosts in Nimbrethil, only a girl-child.

So he followed her.

The forest was a completely different world from the wheat fields, or from the beach where Eärendil spent most of his time. The sunlight was tinged with green, and shone on the ground in dancing, dappled patterns. It was cool in the shade beneath the trees, and smelled of rich earth and moldering leaves, and birdsong filled it all.

There was a well-trodden path that Eärendil thought must have once been a game trail, worn smooth by much use from someone with small, light feet. And dark hair. Eärendil found a strand of it dangling from a low-hanging branch where it had been caught. It was most definitely Elwing's: she had hair so fine it practically floated around her head like feather-light shadows, no matter what Luinnel did.

Eärendil followed the trail slowly and as quietly as he could, not wanting to startle Elwing. What he would do when he caught up to her, he wasn't sure. Now that he thought of it, Elwing more than likely did not want to be followed, and would probably be angry with him.

He found her crouched by a pond, which opened up so suddenly in the forest that he blinked at the bright sunlight glittering on its surface, flat and glassy and so _quiet_. He'd almost forgotten, after the Sea, that water could be quiet. Elwing knelt and was so completely still he might have mistaken her for a statue, if not for the movement of her hair in the wind. She was staring at something in the water, and did not seem aware of his presence. Eärendil stood for several moments, watching her, before deciding that he should leave.

But as he turned to go, she spoke. "I know you're there." And then she moved, turning and raising her head. "You're awfully loud," she said. Eärendil froze, and felt himself blush. "Go _away_, Eärendil."

"Why?" he asked, turning back around and going to crouch beside her instead. "What are you doing out here?"

She glared at him, though it was half-hidden behind a fall of shadow-black hair. "I said go _away_."

"And I asked why," he replied, sitting down and crossing his legs. "You shouldn't be out here alone, you know. Does Lord Celeborn know?"

Her face went white (whit_er_, if that was possible, she was so pale), and she sat back on her heels. "I like the forest," she said. Then, after a pause, she asked, "Are you going to _tell_ him?"

Eärendil shook his head, but the suspicious glare remained on her face. She didn't believe him. He just stared back, knowing she could read in his face that he really wasn't lying. He would not tell Lord Celeborn if she did not tell his parents – and he knew that was not going to happen. Neither of them should be out in the forest alone.

"Then are you going to go away?" Elwing asked finally.

"No."

"Why _not?_" She shook her hair out of her face, still glaring. It was that glare that made Celeborn mutter about Thingol, and Lady Galadriel about Lúthien. Perhaps on one of their faces Eärendil would have quailed, but Elwing was still a child, however oddly she acted, and it was easy to withstand her anger.

In a few years, however, Eärendil thought that things would be different. "Why do you come out here alone?" he asked. It was one thing to be fond of the forest – Luinnel, or someone else could come walk beneath the trees with her. But to come out by _herself_ – that was different.

"To _be_ alone," she said, and got to her feet. "I hope you can find your own way back, Eärendil." And then she fled.

"Hey! Hey – wait!" Eärendil scrambled to his feet and ran after her. "Elwing!"

But she was gone, vanished into the underbrush without a trace. Eärendil swore with words learned from eavesdropping on sailors at the harbor, and then sighed. He supposed he should have expected something like this. "_Fine_," he said, raising his voice, in case she was somewhere nearby. "I'm going back home, then. I promise I won't tell anyone."

He started to walk, but found himself going in circles. After a while he stopped, swearing to himself that he had passed that walnut tree at least a dozen times. He should have come to the edge of the forest _ages_ ago.

He was lost.

Eärendil stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Somewhere, Elwing was surely laughing at him. He opened his eyes, and found a tree nearby that he thought he could climb. If he could see Sirion from its branches, he would know which direction to go.

As he started to climb, he heard rustling behind him, and froze. "Hello?" Silence. "Elwing? Is that you?" He dropped to the ground and turned around, heart pounding. _This isn't Doriath there aren't any ghosts this isn't Doriath don't be stupid._

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he yelled, spinning around and stumbling, tripping over a root and falling onto his back. All the air left his lungs in a painful _whoosh_, and he found himself staring up at Elwing. She stared back, her lips pressed together oddly, like she was trying very hard not to smile.

When he could breathe he gasped, "What did you do that for?"

"I didn't think you would yell like that," Elwing said. "You shouldn't climb this tree."

"Why not?" Eärendil demanded. He got to his feet carefully, chest aching. Elwing just pointed up. He followed her finger, and after a moment of squinting in confusion, he saw it: a bee hive. A _large_ hive, absolutely crawling with bees. He stumbled backward again, and almost fell before catching himself. "Oh."

"You're hopeless," Elwing said. "Follow me, or we'll both be late and in trouble."

Eärendil hurried after her. "I'm not _hopeless_," he said. "I just – I haven't had to find my way through the forest alone before. That's all."

"Hopeless," she repeated without turning around.

He decided not to argue. Breathing still hurt, and Elwing moved swiftly and easily through the underbrush, following game trails and hunters' paths. In no time they left the forest and raced through the wheat fields to that hole in the wall, hidden behind the honeysuckle bushes in the garden.

Once they were through, Eärendil turned to look at the bushes. "What do you do when winter comes?" he asked. The hole should have been visible once the bushes lost their leaves, and he would think that someone would have thought to repair it.

Elwing didn't answer, and when Eärendil turned around again, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Eärendil put down his hammer and sat back on his heels, gazing westward as Anor sank toward the sea. Aerandir glanced up at him, and then toward the sunset. That evening it was not a brilliant, fiery display, but a gentle easing into twilight, with only a few wisps of cloud to turn gold against the pale orange sky before it faded into night. "I suppose that is our signal to stop our work for the evening," he said with a sigh, as lanterns flickered to life along the wharf.

That had not been Eärendil's thought, but he nodded. "It probably won't be long before my mother sends someone to search for me," he said.

"Well, you _are_ but a wee child of fifteen…" Aerandir ducked, laughing when Eärendil tossed a barnacle at him, recently torn from the hull of their skiff. "I'll walk you home."

As they walked through Sirion, they encountered Luinnel, who had been Elwing's nurse when she was small. Eärendil supposed she still considered herself a nurse. After all, Elwing was his age, and few Elves understood how quickly Men grew. She greeted Eärendil and Aerandir with a smile, and asked Eärendil to give her greetings to his parents.

After they bid Luinnel good evening, Aerandir remarked, "I was a little disappointed last week at Elwing's begetting day celebration."

"Why?" Eärendil asked.

"You remember that rumor going around that she'd wear the Nauglamír to the celebration? She didn't."

Eärendil raised an eyebrow. "You _believed_ that rumor?" Elwing _never_ wore the Nauglamír. No one had seen it, not even any of the Sindar, since Dior had worn it in Menegroth. There was an equally persistent rumor that the Nauglamír had been lost in the sack of Doriath, and that Elwing didn't possess it at all. Eärendil thought she _did_ have it, judging from the closed expressions everyone in her household adopted every time it was mentioned.

"Well, you know. One can always hope."

"Why?"

"I just want to _see_ it. The Silmaril. Fëanor's greatest work, hallowed by Varda Elbereth herself."

Eärendil shrugged. He was part of the wrong branch of Finwë's family to truly appreciate Fëanor or his accomplishments. Aerandir was half-Noldo; his father's parents had crossed the Helcaraxë as part of Fingon's host, and his mother was one of the Falathrim. That removed him enough from the complicated family politics of the House of Finwë to have no qualms about admiring Fëanor – and the Silmarils – at least from a craftsman's perspective.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Eärendil," Aerandir said when they parted, and walked off swinging his arms and whistling into the twilight. Eärendil went to the water pump in the center of the courtyard to rinse the grime and dirt off his hands and legs.

As he did so, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked up in time to see a shadowy figure pass over the roof of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel's house. He straightened, frowning up there, oddly reminded of that story of Lúthien's escape from the house Thingol had built in – what was that tree called? He couldn't remember. She'd woven a cloak of her own hair and somehow that had put the guards to sleep.

Now, Eärendil wondered if her granddaughter was not attempting to do the same. He wandered around the side of the house, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the rooftop.

In the end, his curiosity grew overwhelming, and he found a trellis near the garden wall and climbed to the roof himself.

Elwing sat up sharply. "What are you doing?" she hissed. Her skin shone particularly pale in the starlight, and her eyes were like stars beneath her hair. Eärendil found himself staring, unable to speak for a moment. Was this what it was like for Beren, then, when he first laid eyes on Lúthien?

"Get down from here," Elwing hissed again. She sounded like a frustrated cat, which shattered the moment.

"What are you doing up here?" Eärendil asked, climbing fully onto the roof instead, moving carefully so as not to alert anyone in the room below to activity above.

Elwing crossed her arms and scowled at him. Her glare was more formidable now than it had been when they were younger, but he couldn't really see it in the darkness. Her hair was like a living shadow, floating around her head, soft and fine as silk. "I'm up here for the same reason I was in the forest when you followed me there," she said.

"I've been meaning to ask you about that," Eärendil said, drawing his knees to his chest and looping his arms around them. "One of the gardeners found the whole in the wall behind the honeysuckle last spring, and it's all covered, now. Do you still sneak into the woods?"

"Do you think I would tell you if I did?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps not. I suppose the fixed wall wouldn't be much of a hindrance to you. If you can climb up here, you can certainly scale a wall." She didn't answer. "What were you doing in the forest, that day? At the pond, I mean. Staring at the water?"

For a long while, she didn't reply, and he started to think she wouldn't. But finally, she said, "I was watching the tadpoles."

"Tadpoles?"

She gave him a look - the one that said he was hopeless. "Baby frogs. They hatch from eggs but they don't _look_ like frogs. As they grow they sort of…change. I liked watching it."

"Oh."

"You smell like fish," she said after a moment, wrinkling her nose.

"I was down at the quays."

"Why?"

"Aerandir and I - we like to sail around the bay. But our skiff foundered last week. It was becoming too small for us anyway, so we're building a bigger sailboat."

"Oh."

They lapsed into silence. It was an uncomfortable silence, but not as uncomfortable as it had been. Eärendil looped his arms around his knees and stared up at the sky; his eyes were drawn immediately to the Valacirca, swinging in the north. The Sickle of the Valar. His mother had told him how Varda had placed it there as a warning, but did that warning mean anything anymore? Just that morning more refugees had stumbled into Sirion, Laiquendi from Ossiriand who could no longer roam as was their wont, because Morgoth's beasts roamed too, and their numbers were larger.

After a while, Elwing spoke again. "Your parents will be wondering where you are."

Eärendil grimaced. That was true. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Elwing," he said, sliding toward the trellis.

"Good night, Eärendil."

"Good night."

He didn't see Elwing again until a few days later, when she happened upon him in the garden. She halted when he looked up. "I thought you were at the harbor, I'm sorry." She turned as though to flee.

"Wait," Eärendil said. Elwing turned back, frowning. He grinned. "Not everyone dislikes unexpected company, you know."

"Did you not come out here to be alone?"

"I came out here because the grass is comfortable and the sun is warm," Eärendil said. He gestured to the grass beside him. "See for yourself."

Elwing carefully sat, arranging her skirts neatly on the grass as Eärendil turned his gazes back to his whittling. "Why _aren't_ you at the harbor?" she asked after a moment.

"There is a council meeting this afternoon, and my mother had decided I'm old enough to attend more regularly," Eärendil replied. "She says it's likely one day you and I will be ruling Sirion, and it's time I started learning how."

"Why would you need concern yourself? Your mother is the leader of the Gondolindrim…"

Eärendil shrugged. His parents had been having whispered conversations lately that ceased the moment he entered the room. They were planning something, or thinking of planning something, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. "Nothing is certain."

"I suppose that's true." Elwing watched as he brushed wood shavings off his tunic. "Eärendil?"

"Hm?"

"Why do you keep following me places?"

"I've only followed you twice."

"Well, yes, but why?"

He shrugged. "Misguided attempts to get you to talk to me?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw her lips twitch. "And, well, curiosity. I didn't think you left your room before I spotted you sneaking off into Nimbrethil." He finished the last touches on his carving, and picked up a piece of sharkskin Aerandir had given him to smooth it. As he worked, they lapsed into silence - still not completely comfortable, but still friendlier than the night before. And when he was done, Eärendil held the finished product - a comb - out to Elwing. "For you."

"Me?" Elwing took it carefully, running her fingers lightly over the roses he'd carved into the handle. "It's lovely." And then she smiled - a small smile, but a genuine one. "Thank you, Eärendil."

"You're welcome."

The moment was shattered a moment later by the sound of breaking glass, followed by cursing and startled exclamations. Eärendil leapt to his feet and ran inside, finding a mirror in shards on the floor, and his father storming out of the room, leaving a trail of blood drops in his wake. His mother stared after Tuor, fear and concern and helpless frustration warring on her face, before she noticed Eärendil's presence. "What happened?" he demanded as Elwing joined him.

"Nothing," Idril said too quickly. She moved for the broom, but Elwing beat her to it. "Excuse me…" Idril disappeared after Tuor, leaving Eärendil utterly confused, and not a little frightened.

"What…?"

"They fought, Eärendil," Elwing said softly. "Couples fight. You should hear Galadriel and Celeborn, sometimes."

Eärendil could easily imagine Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn arguing. Both of them were strong-willed and proud, Noldor clashing with Sindar. But _his_ parents? Idril and Tuor never fought - at least, not like this. Things did not _break_ when they argued. He almost said so, but decided against it. Instead he took the broom from Elwing. "You needn't clean this up, Elwing."

"I want to help," she said, taking it back. "Fetch a rag and clean up the blood before it sets into the floor."

Deciding one argument was enough for one day, Eärendil obeyed, and together they set the room to rights, minus the mirror. Eärendil turned over one of the larger shards in his fingers, frowning, as the cook brought them lunch, along with news that neither Tuor nor Idril would be attending the council meeting that day. Elwing thanked her graciously, and when she left, said, "You will be expected to take their place, Eärendil."

"I don't know anything about leading people," he said.

"I don't think anyone will expect much leadership today," Elwing said. "We will be going over the harvest and what needs to be done to ensure we survive the winter. Celeborn thinks we will need to send out extra hunters in the coming weeks, but the harvests the past few years have been unusually good."

Eärendil set down the mirror shard and picked up a slice of cheese. "Have you heard why?"

Elwing glanced at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"They're saying your Silmaril is responsible. It's good luck, or a blessing, or some such thing."

To his surprise, Elwing scowled. "It's not the Silmaril," she said flatly. "What good have the Silmarils ever brought _anybody?_"

Eärendil blinked. "I'm only repeating what I've heard," he said. "But weren't they hallowed by Varda Elbereth…?"

"Maybe, but a jewel in a chest doesn't make the crops grow. Good weather and good farmers make crops grow." Elwing closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't like talking about the Silmaril, Eärendil."

"Then we won't talk about it," he replied. Somewhere in the house he heard muffled shouting. It sounded like his parents. He grimaced. "What do you suppose they're fighting about?"

"I could not say." Elwing smoothed her skirts with one hand, running her thumb over the comb he had given her with the other. "Have you heard what else the people say, Eärendil?"

"They say a lot of things," he replied.

"Yes. One of those things is that you and I would make a good match."

He looked up sharply. "And what are _you_ saying?"

"It would be a terrible idea, I think. We would argue all the time."

Eärendil laughed. "I doubt that. We'd hardly spend any time together at all. You would disappear into the forest and I would sail the sea."

"We would meet only at mealtimes, I suppose. Between your voyages, of course."

"And on special occasions. Festivals, and the like."

"And we would _look_ so terribly odd. You a Noldo and I a Sinda."

"I don't know about _that_. Galadriel is a Noldo, and Celeborn a Sinda."

"Galadriel is a descendant of Thingol's brother Olwë, so that hardly counts. You are Noldo through and through."

"Technically I am only half-Noldo, since my father is a Man of the House of Hador," Eärendil said.

"As my grandfather was a Man of the House of Bëor," Elwing replied with a small smile. "And there you have it: we are both Halfelven, aren't we? Perhaps the only thing we have in common." She glanced out of the window, and stood. "The council will be meeting soon. I hope you've a good explanation for your parents' absence ready."

Eärendil grimaced. "Will Lady Galadriel be there?"

"Of course."

"Maybe she'll have an idea."

In the end the members of the council had to be satisfied with the simple explanation, "Lady Idril and Lord Tuor are indisposed." They certainly could not demand more detail when Lady Galadriel looked down her nose at them. Most seemed to forget about it anyway, when they saw Eärendil take a seat beside Elwing. He did not miss their looks of approval, or Elwing's sigh. He wondered if the fact that they ignored each other for almost the entire meeting would do anything to lessen the rumors, but he doubted it.

Sirion thrived on gossip, after all.

When Eärendil returned home, he found his father in the courtyard with Voronwë, laughing about something. If his hand had not sported a bandage, one might think nothing had happened. Eärendil dodged their questions about the meeting and went inside, where he found his mother in the parlor, sitting by the window overlooking the sea. She held a mug of mulled wine, and her eyes were unusually swollen, and rimmed with pink. "Nana?" Eärendil hovered in the doorway, not sure if she wanted to be disturbed.

But she smiled and held out a hand. "There you are, Eärendil. How did the meeting go?"

"Sirion is well set for the winter," he replied, going to sit on the floor beside her, resting his head on her knee like he'd done as a child. "Are _you_ well?"

"Of course," she said, running her fingers over his hair. "I saw Elwing with you earlier. Have you finally decided to become friends?"

"Maybe. But earlier…"

"Your father and I fought. It happens, sometimes. You needn't worry, Eärendil."

Eärendil frowned, but let it go, not sure that it was really his place to push the issue.

Eventually Eärendil left the house. In spite of his mother's words, the tension was so thick inside he felt difficulty breathing. There were still several hours of daylight left, so Eärendil went down to the beach to see if anything interesting had washed up with the tide.

He walked a ways down the shore, away from Sirion, meandering between the wet and dry sands and letting the cold water wash over his bare feet. It would be too cold, soon, for that. The steady sound of the waves rushing in and dragging out was as calming as ever, drowning out everything else, except for the cries of half a dozen gulls wheeling overhead.

The high tide had left behind plenty of seashells, and it wasn't long before Eärendil's pockets bulged with them, and he entertained thoughts of stringing them into a necklace. For his mother, maybe.

As the sun sank westward once again, he turned back toward home, seeing the lamps at the harbor already winking into life in the distance.

And closer, there was someone else on the beach, with dark hair and a pale gown damp with the spray, and soaked at the hems. He smiled, and picked up his pace. "I thought you didn't like the Sea," he said when he met Elwing, who had stopped to pick up a seashell of her own.

"I saw you come this way, and thought I would follow." She turned the shell over in her fingers. "See how you like being followed." She glanced up, with a sparkle in her eyes he'd never seen before - and that was _definitely_ the curve of a smile on her lips.

"Better than you, anyway," he said, taking her arm and moving them back from the water; it was getting uncomfortably cold, and neither of them wore shoes. He grinned at her. "I told you, remember, not everyone dislikes unexpected company."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, regarding him with a mix of curiosity and vague amusement. "Do you never then yearn for solitude, for the company of nothing but your own thoughts?"

"Yes, of course I do." Usually that was when he escaped here, to the beach, to watch the sun set. He glanced toward the horizon, already flaming with vibrant pink and clouds shot with threads of gold. "Usually I like watching the sunset alone."

"Why?" Elwing looked to the west as well.

"I don't know." He didn't look away from the sun; to do so would mean missing it. "But it's incredible, isn't it?"

"It's beautiful."

"And there will never be another sunset just like this one. It is utterly unique, and so fleeting, this one moment between the light of day and the twilight."

They stood together in silence as Anor sank at last beyond the western seas, and the sky faded, as the gloaming set in, stars winking to life like diamonds. Elwing tipped her head back, gazing at them, fiery gems flung into the sky by Varda Elbereth so long ago. She looked so pretty in that moment that Eärendil felt the most ridiculous impulse to kiss her.

But before he could even start to lean forward, she turned away, the wet hem of her dress whispering over the sand. "We should get back before it gets too dark, or they will worry."

"Right." Eärendil took her hand and together they ran across the sand.

Then, suddenly, Elwing started laughing, slowing to a walk and releasing Eärendil's hand. "What is that in your _pockets?_" she asked. Her nose scrunched up when she laughed, and a dimple appeared on the left side of her mouth. It was the first time Eärendil had seen her genuinely smile, and his suspicions had been right: it was _lovely_.

"My pockets?" Eärendil realized suddenly the seashells he'd collected were clinking together, making him sound rather ridiculous when he ran. He joined Elwing's laughter, and pulled one out to show her. "I was collecting seashells."

"They sound like strange bells, clinking together like that."

"Sea bells, perhaps. I was thinking of stringing them together..."

Eärendil did not take her hand again until they reached the steep path leading back up the cliffs. Then he clasped it firmly, guiding through the deepening shadows, and catching her when she stumbled - which wasn't often: Elwing seemed to have no more trouble seeing in the darkness than an owl, and only tripped when she overstepped.

In the courtyard, they took turns rinsing the sand from their feet, and then Elwing flashed Eärendil a smile. "Good night, Eärendil."

"Good night, Elwing."


End file.
